fandomhighdorms | 2nd Floor Common Kitchen: Callynander's Cracked-Out Colonial Thanksgiving

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2nd Floor Common Kitchen: Callynander's Cracked-Out Colonial Thanksgiving

Cally and Anders, having had a lazy, adorable morning, rushed off to the NPC Grocers, and stocked up on exactly the sort of things they think are involved with a proper Thanksgiving meal.

They're currently making Turkey Sandwiches. With some ham, too. And they're wondering where the Cranberry Sauce goes.

The yams, the green bean casserole, these things are confusing and more than a little overly complicated to prepare.

And then there's the rolls. At least they've got rolls. Nice, hot buttery *fingerwiggle* rolls.

But we won't even mention the pumpkin pie. A disaster waiting to happen, more like...

So, here they are, in the Second Floor Common Room kitchen area... making a mess of both the kitchen and Thanksgiving tradition.

Good job, city of Fandom. You let the cutest couple ever totally fail at Thanksgiving, cause NO ONE INVITED THEM ANYWHERE.

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Anders finally finishes opening both ends of the can of cranberry sauce and pokes the entire freakishly wiggling thing out onto a plate. His eyebrow keeps going up as it . . . just wobbles.

"Okay, this is supposed to go with the turkey, right? But I mean . . . jelly? Should there be peanut butter too?"

He takes a few steps back and just stares at the weird wobbling can-shaped cylinder of cranberry sauce. He then picks it up, sets it on the floor, and does a headstand in front of it, contemplating.

"Do you think peanut butter would go with this? Should I go get it?"

"I don't remember there being peanut butter involved." Cally scowls at the yams as she talks. She didn't trust the yams. The yams seemed to be the sneakiest of all vegetables. And they weren't cooperating with the recipe she had looked up.

Stupid Yams.

"So, I'm gonna say no. Cause it would just be one more thing complicating our very complicatified Thanksgivaling."

"Yeah, but . . . this cranberry sauce? Seems more like jelly. And it's supposed to go with the turkey, right? And jelly without peanut butter in sandwiches just seems wrong." Anders gets out of his headstand and picks up the (still wobbling) saucer of cranberry sauce, putting it back on the table. "Three cheers for learning about new and weird holiday customs, huh?"

Staring at it for a moment longer, he finally gives up and wanders over to where Cally's scowling at the yams. "They givin' you trouble, coach?" he asks, resting his chin on her shoulder. "I can beat 'em up for you."

Cally laughs. "Yeah, I might need that. But mashed yams might be something completely different, and we'd have to find a new recipe. And don't get me started on the casserole." Cally scowls again. "Stupid Thirteenth Colony."

She leans her head to the side to rest it against Anders'. "But at this point, I'm thinking we just need to figure out how to make it edible."

"Yeah, somehow you and me cooking is kind of probably not the best idea, huh?" Anders wraps his arms around Cally's waist and hugs her. "Exciting new adventure, though. Maybe this Thanksgiving thing is all about the food because everyone's grateful that the cooking is out of the way."

"Yeah, definitely. Holy frak. I never want to see a yam or a green bean ever again."

She pauses for a second.

"Okay, after we eat them. Then, never, ever, ever."

"Unless we con somebody else into cooking for us next year, huh?" Anders shrugs and bites Cally's neck gently. "I mean, it could taste really good."

He peers over her shoulder at the cookbook. "What exactly are we doing with these yams, anyway? Supposedly?"

"See for yourself (http://vegweb.com/recipes/vegetables/4450.shtml). It's, like, ultra complicated. And... weird. And I'm ready to fling these stupid yams out the window."

Cally reaches back and brushes her thumb against Anders' cheek. "Cause my patience has worn thing with the cooking, seriously."

Anders frowns at the cookbook. "Wow. That's, um, funky. Way more complicated than making sandwiches. But at least the cooking them in the oven part sounds easy enough. I'm just not sure if they're supposed to be, you know, peeled or whatever?"

He hugs Cally again. "Want me to take a shot at it? And you can try working on the casserole thing?"

"Yes. Relieve me of yam-duty. And then I can concentrate on the casserole of doom." Cally nods, and then turns around to kiss Anders on the cheek.

"We're gonna need to find someone to help us eat all this. Otherwise we're gonna... explode, or something."

Anders chuckles and lets go of Cally reluctantly, but not before kissing her on the nose. "Yeah, assuming we can get it all edible. We can stock up as much as we can fit in the fridge, and then maybe Crichton or somebody will want some of the leftovers."

He takes the cookbook from her and starts staring at the yam recipe some more. Picking the yams up gingerly, like they might explode, he carefully washes them off and puts them into a pan, then sticks the pan in the oven and turns it on to 400 degrees -- blissfully ignorant of the importance of preheating. While that cooks, he gets together the rest of the ingredients and starts to work chopping the onions.

It's not pretty. By the time he's halfway through the first onion, he's stopping to splash cold water into his eyes every thirty seconds.

Cally is having much more luck with the casserole. She assembles it together and then turns to watch Anders and his onion difficulty.

"You, ummm... want some help, champ?"

Anders blinks painfully and rubs at his eyes with an oniony hand, causing a fresh wave of pain. "Ow. No. It's okay, coach, I'm good. I think."

Just to prove this, he valiantly picks up the knife and goes back to work, and manages to take a small chunk out of his thumb.

"Owwwww!" Cally instantly hops over and grabs Anders' hand, and begins sucking on his thumb for him. "Careful!"

Anders is distracted pretty effectively from his stinging eyes by Cally sucking on his thumb. "I'm fine, coach, honest. Just a little nick."

"Hey, can't be too careful. Need to make sure it's clean. And get a band-aid. No owies." Cally pouts and kisses the thumb. "None."

"No owies. Check." Anders hugs Cally, careful to not get any onion juice onto her clothes. "I'll go wash my hands and put on a band-aid, okay?"

He gives her a quick kiss and jogs off down the hall to the room, hoping onion juice won't do anything weird to the lock keypad. Luckily it doesn't, and he comes back to the kitchen shortly afterward with onion-free hands and a Thundercats bandage on his thumb.

"I cleaned it and put ointment on it and everything," he says, nodding and pulling a rubber glove out of his pocket. "And I found this in the first-aid kit, so I don't get any onion juice under the band-aid, either."

"Ooooh, extra special care, good." Cally nods, and goes back to double checking the casserole bits.

"Thank the Lords of Kobol the pie is premade. And we've got whipped cream!" She smiles, and hold the can of whipped cream triumphantly over her head. "So say we all, and stuff!"

"So say we all!" Anders laughs and finishes chopping up the onions as fast as he can., dumping them into a frying pan with some ~~*fingerwiggle*~~ butter. "Well, that's one less thing we have to do, huh?"

He eyes the whipped cream can as he turns the heat up under the frying pan maybe a little too much. "Make sure you, um, save some of that for later . . ."

"Keep your eyes on the hot butter, champ. If you burn yourself, there will be no whipped cream." She puffs her chest and puts her hands on her hips. "None. At all. So there."

Anders is distracted for a moment by Cally's chest, because . . . it's Cally's chest. Which he likes. A lot.

But the threat of no whipped cream is a potent one, so he nods dutifully and goes back to watching the frying pan. He even rememebrs to turn the heat down a little bit so the butter doesn't go all crazy.

"I have no idea what 'caramelize the onions' means, but here goes . . ." He dumps brown sugar, maple syrup, and cinnamon (all pre-measured, luckily) into the pan and stirs, eyeing the whole mixture carefully. It comes out kind of lumpy, but looks pretty good otherwise.

"Hey, neat."

"Whoa, cool." Cally walks over and watches the process intentively. "Okay, you are definitely better at the yammage than I am." She smiles, proudly.

"That's my champ. Yam chef extraordinaire."

Anders rubs at the back of his head. "The yams aren't even out of the oven yet. Might want to save the compliments for when I get 'em mixed up with this stuff."

He turns and flashes her a bright grin. "Thanks anyway, coach. Wish me luck with the rest, huh?"

The oven timer pings, and luckily Anders has the sense to grab an oven mitt before going after the pan of yams inside. He glances at the next direction in the recipe book.

"Oh, frak."

"Frak? What's wrong? It's going fine, right? It smells okay... what's wrong?"

Cally looks a little worried, but not panicky... yet.

"Frak? What's wrong? It's going fine, right? It smells okay... what's wrong?"

Cally looks a little worried, but not panicky... yet.

"I just gotta peel the skins off," replies Anders, staring into the pan of yams like he's afraid they might bite him. "And they're kinda hot."

He goes rummaging around for a fork and a knife, and is relieved to find out that the skins come off pretty easily. It's a messy job, peeling the yams this way, but luckily they have to get all mashed up anyhow, so nobody will notice the gouges and cuts. He puts in some more butter (maybe a touch too much ~~but omg, it's *fingerwiggle* buttery now~~) and dumps in the oniony stuff from the pan, then mixes it all up.

"Well. I think that's done."

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2nd Floor Common Kitchen: Callynander's Cracked-Out Colonial Thanksgiving

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